Whisper in the Night
by Snarkoleptic
Summary: Prologue to Twice Bitten, introducing Aedan Cousland as he is before meeting Zevran, who tells the larger tale of the Fifth Blight.
1. Business and Pleasure

**A/N:** This prequel to Twice Bitten, also in progress, fills in the pieces of the Warden's involvement with the Blight that Zevran wasn't present to observe. (Also, he wouldn't shut up in my head after I started thinking about the glimpses Zev has gotten so far.)

* * *

><p>With passion'd breath does the darkness creep.<br>It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep.

_-Transfigurations 1:5_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One – Business and Pleasure<strong>

Over everything else the conversation he'd just been involved in had given him to think about, Aedan Cousland considered how pleased he was that word hadn't reached his father about what he'd _really_ been doing with his morning. The man would just not approve, he was sure of it. He had _started_ the day with his weapons work, sparring with some of the men taking their daily practice, but he had devoted the remainder of the morning to honing other skills he kept as a hobby. He'd certainly never put them to use for any serious purpose.

If he felt some small thrill at being where he shouldn't be, _when_ he shouldn't be, well… Everyone, noble's son or no, should be entitled to some small rebellion, shouldn't they? If Aedan's took the form of tickling the secrets out of locks around the castle or the city proper and standing in the empty spaces that spoke volumes about the lives of his family's people, wasn't it best he did it when they weren't there to see him? It wasn't as if he took anything, and he certainly didn't disturb the balance of those in whose lives he trespassed. He wasn't out to rifle their things and learn their mysteries, and he liked to think he respected their privacy even as he let himself into places he wasn't meant to see.

And the praise he received after displaying the direct benefits of his excursions was amusing. His father often lectured on the importance of knowing the people, that the family could not serve them as they expected to be served in return if they didn't take the time to understand what was important to how they lived. Aedan just had a rather more direct way of going about the learning process, and if he got a laugh or two out of hearing about his so-called natural intuition, so much the better.

He couldn't even say he disagreed with the notion. He'd been around court and the rest of the nobility long enough to know that his family was more highly regarded by the citizens who owed them allegiance than any other in Ferelden. And the way he'd spent his youth had taken him a step beyond what his father thought was strictly appropriate for a son of the Cousland line, though in _this _area the Teyrn approved with pride.

Aedan knew he would never sit in command of the Teyrnir, but he had been prepared from a very young age to act as counsel for Fergus when the time came for him to take his father's place. So Aedan had spent much of his time outside of lessons during his teenage years out among the men, working with them, acting their equal, and as a result had more than the basic knowledge of many aspects of the region that would have been needed to rule it. He didn't need to act the noble to advise his brother, he was certain of that much.

Though he agreed, on the whole, with the duty of his family, he had been less pleased at some of the aspects of it that had arisen during the discussion he'd been called to with his father. He thought, as he wound his way through the castle grounds, that even if he understood his instructions to mind the Teyrnir while his father and brother rode off to battle, and even if he felt no small amount of pride in himself at being trusted to do so, he still would rather have been riding off with them. He hadn't spent all that time in the salle with the soldiers for nothing, after all.

He had been outright displeased with Arl Howe, however, and the mentions of his daughter. His father seemed to genuinely like the man, though Aedan could never quite see the reason behind it. He couldn't put his finger on why, but it bothered him that it seemed to be a foregone conclusion that he'd begin courting Delilah as soon as she grew old enough to be eligible. She was certainly attractive enough, he knew, even if he hadn't any idea what would have her so fascinated with him. His father had counseled him that when the time came he'd be ready to settle down and devote himself to her, but he had some other nagging worry he wasn't able to define. The dalliances he'd had with women from the city hadn't necessarily left him looking forward to being ready to settle down, he supposed.

And then there was the Warden. He wasn't sure what dazzled him more; the fact that a Warden was actually _here_, or that he'd made such a bold advance as to suggest that Aedan himself would be a worthy candidate for that august order. He couldn't imagine why the man would have said so, and was dead certain any consideration would evaporate if Duncan found out about his sneakier habits. But over it all, he wondered what it was Grey Wardens actually did when there wasn't a Blight to think about.

Now _there_ was a scary thought. If there truly was a Blight brewing, they'd certainly need all the help they could get. Aedan chastised himself for the whisper of relief that snaked into his thoughts, that he'd be here, safe in the castle, while others went on to confront the horror. His father would tell him he was doing his duty to remain, but it felt a bit treacherous to his upbringing and to the values so central to his family that he would acknowledge that relief at all. Though he would never voice it out loud, he also held some small measure of worry over Gilmore, who he'd counted among his friends for a number of years and had heard today was also being considered for conscription into the Wardens.

He made a mental note to talk with Duncan in the days to come. He'd been caught up in the fantasy of the Order from Aldous's tales when he was a boy, and his curiosity had sparked again in more practical ways. Did Grey Wardens get involved with worthy efforts, outside of Blights? He could think of any number of ways such a military order could be of benefit in the world, particularly in the more rural and less settled areas where it was hard to focus any sort of governing attention. But he'd never heard of them doing so. He'd have to pick Duncan's brain and find out why.

As he came to a turning in the path, he found himself almost knocked off his feet as he collided with someone in heavy armor, steadying himself on the man's shoulders before realizing who it was.

"Gilmore! We ought to have a sign there for the blind corner."

"Ha! Lost in thought as you were, perhaps we need a sign for the blind Teyrn's son."

And that would be _why_ he considered Gilmore a friend. He was one of few people outside the family who would talk to him as if he was a person worthy of conversation, his words always honest and never infused with that tiresome awareness of _His Lordship_. "I saw enough to know you look like a man on a mission. Fire in the library, or what?"

Gilmore laughed and thought that problem might actually be more preferable to the one he'd been sent to address. "I'm actually out to find you. Seems your hound is living up to his name again, this time in Nan's larder. Lady Eleanor bid me find you, as Nan's shrieking is apparently disturbing her chat with her guests."

Aedan's cheeks tented as he blew out a gust of air. He loved that dog, he really did, but he wished for something more to keep the hound from getting bored. "All right, then. Maybe we can cage a sweet or something off her after we act the heroes and save the kitchens, eh?"

Pleased to have company he enjoyed for a time, Aedan put aside his musing and set off toward Nan's domain.


	2. Teacher and Student

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two – Teacher and Student<strong>

Aedan and Gilmore managed to find their way out of the study before dissolving into laughter.

"Maker, Aedan, I can't believe you just did that! I haven't seen anything so brilliant in ages as the look on the poor sage's face!" The words came hard, choked as they were by gasping amusement. "The dragon gave it some flavor, I'll be bound, but I sorely wish I could have stayed to watch those boys asking old Aldous about the wenches!"

Aedan allowed himself a moment to enjoy his friend's approval before they pushed off the wall and headed for the kitchens. It always did him good to hear a compliment from Gilmore, he assumed because the man wasn't family. Either that, or because he knew this kind of approval wouldn't come from anyone else he knew. If pressed, he would have to admit to admiring Gilmore, for his simple devotion to those around him when he had no duty to compel it. "I _told_ him we had business elsewhere. It's his own fault for roping me into giving a history lesson anyway."

"You certainly made the lesson more interesting, I'll give you that. You don't think… Aldous wouldn't say anything to the Teyrn, would he? What _would_ your father say?"

"Probably tell me to concentrate on my own wenches, if it came to that. He's been quietly encouraging me toward breaking hearts for years, now."

Not for the first time, Aedan wondered about that. He'd only been _out walking_ with one girl or another for a couple of years by now, though his old man had almost made a point of encouraging him to get started with it, even at the expense of some of the work he'd been doing in the city. He had even, in the way of men, been congratulated for the whispers of his liking for the ladies amidst the reminders that heirs don't come from nowhere. Though there'd been precious little of either, just lately. Last time he'd felt the need, he'd gone to one of the taverns in Highever proper and recognized one of the women he'd dallied with for a while sharing with her circle of friends some joke about shorter men having to try harder.

He'd hated it, but the raucous cackling that followed had bitten at his ego, enough that he'd called off his plans for a night of debauchery and footed it back to the castle. It wasn't as if she'd had anything to complain about, he knew, and he had no reason to worry about… perceptions. One doesn't spend days on end at work with the men from the city without recognizing, even unintentionally, that stature has nothing to do with anything. But he was still no taller than most women, a fact which had led to the occasional rejection, and hearing it laughed about had quite put him off.

"Really need to stop thinking and walking at the same time, Aedan. You've just passed the kitchens up entirely."

Chuckling at the call from Gilmore, Aedan rolled his eyes at himself and corrected his course. He couldn't believe he'd thought of that _now_, it being probably the only subject he'd never discussed beyond the abstract with his friend, even after Gilmore had become so obviously smitten with that merchant's daughter. He hadn't told _anyone_ about the business in the tavern. Perhaps, if it was on his mind, he needed to take advantage of his last free afternoon and head back out to the city so he could assume his duty with his head on the right way round.

As he entered the kitchen, he heard a muffled bark from the larder and a string of curses from Nan, the sort she'd have tanned his hide if she'd caught him using when he'd been young enough to need a minder. "Afternoon, Nan! You know he'd go, if you stood open the door and told him to."

"And why would I do that? He's _your_ bloody dog! Where were you off to that you couldn't keep him to heel, anyway?" Hands fisted on her hips, Nan spun to accuse Aedan with a look.

"You know as well as I do mabari are smart enough to need entertainment. Probably whipped up a three course meal by now." Aedan opened the door and peered into the large pantry, prompting Rass to sit and bark out a tale he had to know wouldn't be fully understood. "What have you found, boy? And if it's a roast, don't say so loud enough for Nan to hear."

Rass got back to work nosing around bags of flour and stacks of crates, eventually scratching at the ground near a basket of vegetables that had been set aside for the evening meal. When Aedan pulled the basket aside, he found a jagged little hole in the wall behind it, a pair of beady little eyes blinking out from the darkness.

"Rats."

Confused, Gilmore stepped fully inside and allowed the door to close behind him. "Rats what?"

"No, really. Rats." Freeing his daggers, Aedan stood back to lean against the wall and wait for them to make their move. They always did, the buggers, when they had an opening. Soon enough, the beasts were swarming into the room, a startled Gilmore drawing his blade a bit late. Among the three of them, though, the tide of rodents was quelled in short order.

"I'll just, ah…" Gilmore knew he was a coward and felt no shame. "Be off, then. Reva's waiting for me this afternoon in any event, and, well… Probably best you let Nan find out about the rats on her own, yeah?"

Waving his thanks, Aedan gave Gilmore time to make good on his escape before leading Rass out of the larder. Around shouts at the elves when they didn't move quickly enough to please her, Nan gave her own gratitude to her former charge in the form of a retelling of her old mabari tale. By this time, Aedan could have written Hohaku's entire life story from memory.

"I have this sneaking feeling, Nan," Aedan said as she wound the tale to a close, "that this telling was more for Rass's benefit than mine. Those pork scratchings weren't just to get his attention, were they?"

"I've more than enough to do without talking at dogs, young man."

"Nan?" He hadn't meant to press on, but…

It took a moment for her to respond, now that she had some new directive from the top of her lungs for the elves. "Well? What?"

Aedan hesitated, eventually sighing and letting it go. "Nothing, Nan. I'll let you get on with the cooking. And no worries; Rass is staying with me now I'm back."

He'd have to catch her on one of her rest days, he thought. More than any lecture from Aldous or his father, more than any gentle admonishment from his mother, Nan's tale about Hohaku had taught him about respecting everyone, from the least to the greatest, even if he had always suspected she'd invented it out of whole cloth. He just couldn't understand why the woman who could teach him such a strong lesson – strong enough he would almost rather _not _be seen as nobility, sometimes – would shout so at the elves she tasked.

_And there I go again, taking a wrong turning. I really _am_ distracted, today._ Correcting his path again, he paused to exchange pleasantries with Lady Landra and her entourage, who were currently attending on his mother. Throughout the exchange, his mother kept sliding her gaze from Aedan to Iona, the lady's maid, her knowledge of his reputation plain on her face. _So it's almost expected that I'll try to charm her now, is it?_

As little as he truly enjoyed the act, he supposed it must be necessary given his distractions of late, and it _would_ save him venturing into town. _Why not keep the rumor mill going at home, then,_ he thought, wondering again why he seemed to be expected to keep that reputation intact.

After escorting Iona to the study and extracting a promise for later, looking forward to it for no reason other than putting an end to his wandering mind, he set back out to give his father's message to his brother.


	3. Rest and Remembrance

**Chapter Three – Rest and Remembrance**

* * *

><p>They had now been four days on the road. Aedan knew he'd slept, eventually, during the brief stops Duncan would allow each night, but his body couldn't remember doing it. He had only the recollection of being shaken awake by the older man to get moving again for each new day to tell him he'd done anything other than stare at the glow of the fire on the wall of his tent, unwilling as he was to invite the visions that would play through his mind.<p>

Someone _else_ had taken the food Duncan offered. Someone _else_ had gone through the motions of gathering firewood and following instructions for setting a camp. Someone _else_ had bathed in the stream they passed. It certainly wasn't Aedan doing any of these things. He could only watch from the remote corner of his mind to which he'd fled.

Some Grey Warden he'd turned out to be, when he hadn't managed to utter a single sound since stepping into that passage and letting himself be led away like some pliant sheep.

Tonight Duncan had told him he should try to sleep. But how could he? There were so many horrors, so many failures, to dance across the darkness when he closed his eyes. Nothing else the older man _could_ have said, Aedan realized in that detached part of himself. Better he didn't try to stand in as father, certainly not _now_. And Aedan was flagging, barely keeping pace as the days wore on, hardly having the energy left after so many restless nights to feed himself, never mind pressing forward on an urgent journey toward a Blight.

Had it really been just this week that he'd cursed himself for his relief at being left behind to mind the chickens? And if he admitted to himself that he'd been taken with the notion of Duncan's suggestion that he'd make an excellent candidate for the Wardens, that just made the betrayal of his born duty all the sharper. Hadn't he let himself fancy leaving for this life? Hadn't he asked, even momentarily, for his life to take this very turn?

Willing his mind to silence, Aedan rolled away from the fire and tried to force himself to sleep. But as he'd known they would, the visions came again.

_Iona_, _falling under the force of an arrow even as he tried to pull her back into the room._

_The bodies of the castle guards, men with families and roots in Highever, men he recognized as compatriots if not as friends, littering the causeways, having given everything they had in their service to his family._

_Dairren, glancing over at his thinly-veiled attempts to talk Iona into his bed, his expression a study in disapproval and the shrewd taking of notes for his own purposes later._

_His nephew, his sister-in-law, cut down together, the evidence plain on their bodies that she'd shielded him to the last._

_His father's final words, pressing him into the charge and duty of the Wardens, knowing his son would understand the meaning of his obligation. _

_His mother, face hard with resolution, refusing to leave her husband's side. _

_His friend, his brother in all but name, his… and the quiet air of devotion about Gilmore, the calm acceptance of his own duty to stand in the face of the onslaught and give Aedan time to get away._

All else had fallen, leaving Aedan the sole recipient of the obligation of those he was meant to serve. And he had repaid it by leaving them, fleeing ever faster under the silent insistence of the Warden into whose service he had been given.

A strangled sob rose in his chest and escaped before he could press his face into the hard pillow to mask his weeping. He had failed them, those who had given so much for the security he had been charged with providing in return.

* * *

><p>Aedan woke early, and found he was alone for the moment with his thoughts. It wouldn't have done for Duncan to have heard him flailing about under the weight of his own inadequacy. His body felt somewhat rested, now, and his mind… He had learned well the lesson of responsibility, and he was determined he would not fail again. Whatever memory haunted him, it was his charge now to lock it down and see his duty done.<p>

Resolved now, or a reasonable imitation of it anyway, Aedan schooled his expression into the veneer of calm he'd been taught was appropriate for governing. As they picked up the camp and found the road again, he would question Duncan, intelligent and reasoned, and show the man he wasn't some lost child unworthy of trust as he must have appeared up to now.

After a mile or so in the same pitying silence that had accompanied him, he ventured the question that had occurred to him… before, about Wardens' occupations when Blights weren't threatening.

"Blights may be rare, and thank the Maker for that," Duncan answered, never taking his eyes away from the road before them, "but the darkspawn are ever a threat. When there is not a need to gather defenses on the surface, our duty takes us to the darkspawn. Their numbers are great, so we must remain vigilant."

That made sense, Aedan thought. He'd had more practical surface ideas in mind, but darkspawn had to come from _somewhere_, didn't they? "So you gather your forces and deal with it when they rise, and take the fight to them in the time between. How many Wardens will we be joining at Ostagar?"

"Not nearly enough. Politics having reared its ugly head, our brothers from Orlais have been prevented from meeting us here. I trust King Cailan is working as diligently as he can to overcome that difficulty, but…" Duncan trailed off, though Aedan had the impression he had more to say about the current state of affairs. Instead, the Warden changed direction. "In any event, we do have a strong military force, though I am not as optimistic as some."

"And you came to Highever to consider…" the name died on Aedan's lips. "One of our knights for recruitment. One who was quite the seasoned warrior, far superior to me. Why… What would have given you the impression that recruiting me would be a good idea?" It was done, he thought, so he may as well hear why.

"I gained some appreciation for your talents during my stay in Highever, though what showed most clearly – especially to one such as I, who never rests from seeking such things – was your unquestioning acceptance of your duty. That is a trait that has accomplished much more than brute strength ever will."

Aedan considered this, and for the first time felt dishonest. It was nothing to do with duty – he gave a moment's thought to what he had so recently locked away to see to the obligation that had been thrust on him. "But with everything I've heard of the Wardens… I'm sorry, Duncan, but you have to know I don't come by my service honestly."

"You are referring to your adventures with the shadows and the locksmith's tools?" Duncan turned a bland expression on the young man, his eyes hinting at amusement.

"How in the world?" In spite of himself, Aedan was utterly astonished.

"I saw you at your practice, before I joined you in the great hall." The Warden allowed himself a second to laugh. "The Teyrn did say I arrived unannounced, did he not? I suspect it was his desire to see you… uncorrupted… that held him from saying just _how_ unannounced my arrival was."

Aedan could only stare for a moment. Had this man, who had to be senior in the Order if he was out looking to invoke their Right of Conscription, just admitted to being a sneak? "I had thought…"

"That we look for those knights who chase after good as if it were the ideal of living to which all should aspire?" Clearly amused, Duncan patted the boy on the shoulder. "I won't say we avoid recruiting that type, but our purpose is to preserve the greater good, after all. We value those, such as yourself, who will avail themselves of _all_ methods, who will not shy away from an option for seeing our purpose met simply because they find it distasteful."

"So you'll take the sneaky noble's son who breaks and enters into his subjects' private spaces."

"As well as the mages who do what they must to survive against the world, and the lesser men who strike out above their station not in revenge, but to stop the injustices done to their people. And the cutpurses and second-story men who do what they must to see their families fed. The Wardens have use for all manner of skills in the name of that greater good, and will not hesitate to deploy whichever set suits the circumstances." Chuckling at the thought, Duncan added, "And so we'll take the noble's son who learned from the source how best to serve his people."

Aedan had learned enough of the world by now to know that romanticized ideals had no place in practicality, but he was surprised nevertheless. Eventually, in the face of the darkness in that hidden recess of his mind he'd so recently occupied himself, he found himself laughing, even if he couldn't for the life of him put his finger on what was funny.


	4. Waking to War

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond. Reviews are always welcome!

**A/N**: Apologies for any confusion to those subscribing; I originally uploaded the chapter to the wrong story. I really need to not have six dozen characters yammering in my head.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four – Waking to War<strong>

Aedan's thoughts were consumed by something new as soon after Duncan left him at the bridge near the Ostagar camps, a feeling of dread entirely unlike anything he'd felt before. He'd known war would be harsh, but he had been thoroughly unprepared for the sheer magnitude he found as he surveyed his surroundings. Any remaining hesitation over having been abandoned evaporated then, as he wouldn't have wanted Duncan to see him trying to take it all in.

He'd stopped for a conversation with a mage, who had ultimately felt he shouldn't be distracted by idle chatter with her. Wynne, she'd said her name was. He was sure whatever she'd had to say about darkspawn was worth listening to, but he'd been caught up for a moment thinking how much her automatic advice reminded him of Nan. Whatever wisdom she had to offer had passed before he was able to press the memory back into the box he'd built for it at the edge of his awareness.

Someone from the Chantry was preaching nearby, offering prayers and platitudes about the Maker's acceptance of those who fall in battle. Was this their idea of rallying the troops? This close to what was supposed to be a large battle, he'd have thought the men would be looking for something more than promises for their fate after death.

Groups of warriors were making last-minute arrangements, messengers were flying about, mages were doing something magical or other that he'd been told rather rudely couldn't be interrupted if they were to be ready for the coming battle. Though he didn't know specifically what his role would be, yet, Duncan had said the day before that the Wardens' involvement in keeping the country safe was crucial. And it occurred to him: here was his chance to atone.

All the urgency and fear and steely resolve around him coursed through his thoughts in an instant. He was here because of his failure to protect those who had counted on him, and he was being given a second chance. Duty, again. He was accustomed to it by now, but the new determination he felt to see it done managed to put an end to what remaining thoughts of his prior failure had escaped his ability to suppress.

And if there was fresh guilt riding on the wave of his newfound purpose, he'd just have to think harder about that purpose, wouldn't he? And if he was to find this Alistair as he'd been instructed to do, he'd meet the man as a Warden. Whatever remnants of the life he'd been pulled from might fuel him in his mission, but he'd be damned if he'd let it show any more than it already had. After a moment to reinforce this to himself, Aedan set out to find his target.

Vague directions had Aedan climbing what was left of a ruined incline to what had been a wall or a decorated road or… something. Maker knew what the ancient inhabitants of this place had thought to do with a bunch of pillars rising into open air. A couple of servants puttering about to the north; nothing to be found there. Up another incline to the south, on what might have been a battlement had it not been so low to the ground, he stumbled across an argument in progress.

The man in the dress – must be a mage – had shot the messenger, and the messenger didn't like it. Could be tiffs like this were why that adage had always been repeated to him constantly when he was a child, even if he would always much rather have spent his time with the runner than whoever had sent the message. The messenger, for his part, managed to give the impression of being a bit older than Aedan and at the same time quite a bit younger.

Taking the man's hand, Aedan introduced himself as just that – Aedan, late of the Grey Wardens, and while he was sure from the descriptions he'd gotten he'd found Alistair, he didn't let on that he'd already known. "We have a bit before Duncan wants us back at the Warden encampment. You sure you're all right with showing me around until then?"

"It isn't as if I have anything better to do now the mages and the Chantry are talking, and… Wait," Alistair stopped walking and looked at the new recruit. "Did you just say you _want_ me following you around? That's new."

"Or walking ahead so you can point things out as we go. That was rather more my idea." Aedan wondered what would have prompted such a question.

"Oh, no. If I'm in front you'll see me tripping over my own feet, and there goes my credibility as a leader. How about you point and ask, and I'll tell you what I know?"

_With an opening like that…_ Aedan pointed at Alistair and began asking idle questions as they walked. Might as well get to know the man, he thought, if we'll be working together as closely as Duncan hinted. Though there were some subjects he allowed the templar to retreat from as they caused apparent discomfort, he came to suspect from Alistair a kind of craving for more inquiry. The tone almost resembled what he'd gotten in the past, from servants or citizens, when he'd ask an honest question simply because he wanted to hear from that person in particular.

It was the delighted flush when Aedan showed gratitude for the time he'd taken to explain more about the Wardens that tipped him and finished setting up his first impression. _Former templar, perhaps doesn't make friends easily? Doesn't have the softest approach with strangers, but I've been told I can be as forceful as he is reticent._

And then there was the silent surprise that almost looked a bit like admiration when Aedan showed just how forceful he could be when he was provoked, as he spoke to the bored-looking soldier hanging about in front of a cage that held a naked prisoner. "When exactly _was_ the last time he was given any food?"

"What's it to you?" The guard tried for an affronted look that ended up coming across as a pout. "I only just got this post this mornin', anyway."

"And of course asking him a question directly is beneath you," Aedan responded, the low pitch of his voice absolutely daring the soldier to agree. "_Days_. If no one can be arsed to sentence the man, you're not entitled to abuse him in the meantime. Food and clothes. Now."

"Aren't we a high and mighty Warden? I've got my orders and they ain't from you, and _I_ ain't leavin' him be to go wanderin' about."

"Yes, you are. I don't care if there's a war on; if you couldn't be spared to see to the prisoner, you wouldn't be standing here. I'll wait a bit while you go, and if you make me wait more than a bit, I'll stop the first striped kit I can find and go on about how you're harming the man. Or I can go hunting for a sergeant _now_, if you'd rather keep glaring at me from that spot there."

As the soldier scrambled off, Alistair gave voice to the thought that was begging to be let out. "Wasn't that… I mean, I agree they shouldn't treat him like _this_, but it's not as if it was on that guard's orders, was it?"

"He may not have done it, Alistair, but he didn't do anything to stop it, either." Aedan jerked a thumb at the prisoner. "Whether he's to be executed for desertion or not, they've no right to do this to him until they sort themselves out." _How we treat the least of us…_

Alistair said nothing in the rest of the time it took for the man to bring back necessities for the prisoner, though it was plain on his face that he was thinking deeply. The templar was trying to reconcile the aggressive threat with the moral ground it stood on, and not having an easy time of it. This new Warden was certainly no stranger to confrontation, he'd give him that.

Meeting Ser Jory put Aedan in mind of Duncan's words on the road to Ostagar, as he sounded like one of those types to chase after the ultimate good and the heroic glory. And a bloody end, if he didn't get his head out of the clouds, though it would have been rude to offer that pearl on first acquaintance.

"So…" Alistair hesitated a moment, not quite making eye contact, which served to confirm for Aedan his thoughts on the man's difficulty with people. "Not the religious sort either, I take it?"

"Looked like I wanted a wash that badly during the blessing, did I?" The dramatic shiver Aedan tried didn't quite come off, burdened as he was. He'd changed out one of his daggers for the family sword, but he was also weighed down with the shield carrying the Cousland crest, the ascendant laurel branches he hadn't thought to cover. The last thing he needed this early was someone recognizing it, though he might well be taken for a knight come from the service of Highever.

"Ha! Just put me in mind of _me_, every time the Grand Cleric would pin me with a look."

In Daveth, when they came across him, Aedan found a kind of kindred spirit. He'd never have openly approved of the cutpurse way of life, but neither was he any stranger to the concept of having no other choice. This particular cutpurse hadn't once hesitated to look him in the eye. _Those who will do what must be done_, Aedan thought, taking a strange comfort and an odd sense of place out of this unlikely kinship with a thief.

And then reality set in. With the group gathered, Duncan explained what they were to do, and where they were to do it. Daveth had been right, and while Aedan hadn't been overly concerned, he did think for what had to be the hundredth time of his nerves over the idea of actual, bloody battle. Fighting of the sort that didn't involve practice rules and padded gambesons. And he reminded himself again that this was his second chance.

Though Duncan clearly disapproved, Rass wouldn't be denied. If he'd asked, Aedan could have told him the dog wouldn't see him go into danger alone, but the mabari handled it quite eloquently on his own, prompting a nervous laugh from Alistair. Aedan thought now, having heard it a few times, that the man sounded like a boy forever caught sneaking a sweet from the larder.

"You, ah… You have a mabari. Good. That's, um. Good." If Alistair could have tugged at the neck of his splintmail, he'd have been doing it. Especially when the dog realized he was nervous and used it as an excuse to growl while affixing his nose into… that… area, as dogs do.

When Rass padded over to keep heel with Aedan, his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, which had been arranged into the canine equivalent of a grin. Of course the dog was laughing. He always laughed at people he liked when they smelled like they were afraid of him anyway.

"Not to worry, Alistair. He's decided he likes you." Chuckling himself, Aedan realized they seemed to be waiting for _him_ to set off toward the gates that would carry them to the wilds. _Ah, well. Soonest begun…_

"You can… tell, that, already?" The templar shifted his eyes down to keep watch on the mabari, even if it caused him to stumble over his own toes a couple of times.

"Course I can. He never laughs at someone he doesn't think is worth his time."

* * *

><p>The light mood didn't last more than a few steps out the gate. Alistair had seemed more comfortable with the idea of Aedan leading them through the swamp than doing so himself, reciting all manner of things that happened when he led. Locusts, swarms of bees, sudden bandits, blizzards in Justinian (although he really didn't mind a midsummer cool down). Though he walked a few paces behind, Alistair did make the best use of their time, teaching the three what he could about the darkspawn they had to track. What to look for, how to identify casters, how to tell when the smarter ones were concealing themselves.<p>

No one much liked it when he said he couldn't explain just _how_ Wardens came to be able to sense the darkspawn. But there was something… Some resignation on his face, as if he'd expected the camaraderie to end sooner or later, that had Aedan calling for them to stop pressing the question. They'd find out soon enough, wouldn't they?

And then as Rass growled, Aedan looked over the stands of trees some distance away and asked, "Alistair? You ever get any wolves? When you led?"

"Wolves? No, why?"

Aedan tugged out his weapons, cursing as the sword caught on the shield on its way up. "Just checking. Wouldn't want to repeat anything you've already done."

The battle was short, but it was bloody. The wolves had likely not found anything to hunt for food since the darkspawn had arrived, and they were desperate enough for meat to risk the pointy bits their prey carried. And _here_ Aedan saw for the first time what was under Alistair's shy nerves and hesitant questions. The man fought well, both standing on his own and in close quarters with allies, always aware of those around him. And none of his poor confidence showed when he bandaged the bite on Aedan's calf – his doctoring was quick and certain, as if he'd spent some time practicing.

Although he did flush clear up to his ears and stammer again when Aedan spoke those compliments aloud.

Around another bit of dry land, amidst some ruins, Aedan had to fight, _hard_, to keep his composure as he called for bandages. They'd heard a call for help, which turned out to have come from one of Fergus's scouting party. Aedan wouldn't take no for an answer; the man could barely walk, so once Alistair had bandaged what he could, he insisted on pulling the man to his feet and dragging an arm across his shoulders to help him back to the camp.

The other three exchanged glances at his request they keep their distance on the way back, but he wasn't yet ready for them to hear the questions he had for the wounded man. Or for them to watch him struggle with the answers he got. All signs pointed to him being the last of the Cousland line, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. He took his time finding supplies to restock Alistair's medical bag, chanting "purpose" like a mantra under his breath.

The brittle lines may not have been worked out of the veneer he'd put back up by the time he rejoined the group, but it would have to do. Even if he couldn't quite manage to admonish himself for the smart remark he offered when Ser Jory decided he was afraid of darkspawn, now, though he did correct himself out loud. "Duncan wouldn't have brought you here if he thought you'd fall to the first one you saw."

"S'right." Daveth elbowed the knight in the ribs. "Gotta wait at least 'til you've seen all the different sorts."

As they headed back out into the wilds, Aedan noticed the cracks in Alistair's shield and came to a decision. If Highever was to give everything it had against the Blight, he might as well see it done right. Wasn't as if he could use the thing, anyway.

"You sure, Aedan? I mean it's a fine shield, it's a really fine shield, but-" The templar seemed more nervous about actually receiving what he thought of a gift than whatever meaning might be behind it.

Which was fine with Aedan. "I'm sure. Don't ask, not here. Besides, what would Duncan do if we came back without you, eh?"

Alistair was saved from having to fumble through gratitude. Darkspawn. "Be ready! Four up ahead, one caster. Daveth, hang back with your bow and do what you can with it!"

If Aedan had thought time had slowed on the way to Ostagar, he'd been sadly mistaken. Seconds seemed to stretch into hours in his mind under the horror of the fight, and after he'd rolled past Alistair and plunged his blade into the back of the last darkspawn – a genlock, his shocked mind supplied cheerfully – he couldn't do more than stare for several long minutes.

"That was…" Shaking off the terror of seeing what darkspawn actually _were_, he sheathed his blades at his back and reached for the vial he'd been given to fill with blood. Though if you'd asked him, he'd have sworn he'd forgotten about their purpose in tracking down darkspawn in the first place.

"We did all right. Not a scratch on us, that time." Alistair stepped closer to clap him on the shoulder and whisper conspiratorially, "Jory's shriek sounded even more girly than _mine_ did when I saw my first one."

And that was all it took. Aedan's laughter approached hysteria, but it allowed him to vent his nerves and get his head on straight for the remaining task ahead. He was much better prepared – they all were – for the small army that greeted them at the base of the tower, and he was once again impressed by Alistair's ability to command the attention of their foes. It was still unsettling, how rational the beasts could be, but he managed to keep the attention of even the larger hurlock that kept trying to break away and go for Daveth.

And then it was Aedan's turn to fumble, as Alistair had taken a shallow cut under his arm and across his back. He hadn't any idea what he was doing with the bandages, but the templar called him decent with them as he followed instructions for dressing the wound. None of them wanted to wait to catch their breath, fearful that another wandering party of darkspawn might find them, so they pushed forward to the tower as soon as Alistair's armor was back in place.

* * *

><p>Stepping back into the camp, Aedan looked sideways at Alistair. "What is it with you and frogs, anyway?"<p>

"Maybe I'd just rather croak in battle."

Aedan stopped in his tracks, shaking with silent humor even if the pun had been hideous. Maker, he needed to laugh. It was that or scream.

Daveth joined in with his own play on words, prompting a raised brow from Duncan as they approached his campfire. "Guess we know who to ask now when we wonder if it really is colder than a witch's teat, yeah?"


	5. Portrait of a Nation

BioWare owns all; I just play in their pond. Reviews are always welcome!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five – Painting of a Nation<strong>

Aedan was outmatched, and he knew it. Not for the first time, he cursed the lot for not listening to the dumb one as he dodged and weaved, nearly losing his footing under the steady flurry of blades from the two thugs who had cornered him. With a quick jump to the side to avoid the path of the sword coming in from his right, he found his neck exposed to the swinging blade in the hand of the thief at the left. Years of practice had his dagger on its way up for a parry, but even as he moved he knew he wouldn't be in time.

And then the sword bound for his throat slowed in mid-sweep, and before he could fully comprehend the transition he was looking at a bandit-shaped block of ice. Unthinking, he changed the direction of his dagger and found it a home in the other man's shoulder, the pain shocking his opponent to stillness just long enough for his sword to be thrust into his side.

Looking around now, he saw Alistair stepping over bodies in a determined stride. The warrior braced his feet next to the statue and struck once, twice, and a third time with his shield to crack and shatter the frozen man where he stood.

Wiping sweat from his brow before realizing his hand was covered in blood, Aedan called out his thanks to Morrigan.

The witch looked ruffled for a second, as she had under his gratitude for bringing him back in the Wilds, before raising a brow. "'Twas only what was necessary, nothing more. Surely you do not believe I would suffer a Blight in _his_ sole company?" As she waved a hand in Alistair's general direction, she stepped with an eerie grace around the bodies to dig through the crates they had kept.

Shaking his head as he knelt to rifle pockets, he asked, "Are you familiar enough with Lothering to point us toward a table and food? And maybe, Maker willing, a bath we can rent?" It was early enough in the day, and they were far enough ahead of the horde, that they could indulge in a real meal and a few hours off their feet before they went any further.

"There is only one such place I am aware of," Morrigan offered without looking around. "It sits upon a field across the bridge, sadly within range of the idiot chanting that goes on at all hours in the building on _this_ side of the stream."

"I can tolerate some droning if it means we can shrug off these packs for a bit."

* * *

><p>Dane's Refuge, the tavern was called, and Aedan had never before seen a structure so overfull with people. It took some convincing after Loghain's men had fled for the barkeep to agree to let them make use of the bath, and they hadn't a hope of finding a seat together in the crowded room, but the men at least were exhausted enough not to care. Morrigan, Aedan suspected, wouldn't have wanted the company anyway.<p>

The ale he'd been handed was flat and likely came from the bottom of an old keg, but just now, Aedan was ready to compare it to some of the finer brews he'd tasted. He was clean, his packs were stowed underneath his seat, his dog was fast asleep across his feet, and as he sat on the worn bench he had a wall behind him to lean against. After sparing a moment to catch his breath, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander to the events of the last several days.

Events in Highever seemed so distant and insignificant, even if comparing them that way with the fate of Ferelden as a whole wrenched his gut. Aedan couldn't stop looking at it as if it were one of the governance problems his father used to test him with, though. Yes, his family had been betrayed, and in the interest of duty and justice he would eventually have to see that Howe paid for his treachery. But now…

Loghain had endangered an entire nation with his abandonment of the army, his slander against the Wardens, and his very regency. Aedan was well aware that Queen Anora had presided over most matters of court, even before King Cailan had marched off to war. What little he'd seen and the vast amounts he'd heard left him unwilling to believe Anora would have handed everything over to her father in a tidy package.

Loghain's perfidy was indeed the more pressing issue. And realizing this, confirming in his own mind that he had once again set aside his own desire in the name of the greater need of those around him, he felt a fleeting calm that had been a stranger to him since that night in Highever. He couldn't hold it for long, not when knowing his father would have been proud of his decision was such bitter comfort. Better to put it away, and put one step in front of the other.

He still didn't know what to think of Flemeth. Great bird, his arse. He had no memory of being evacuated from the tower, but he was certain if she'd had wings they didn't have feathers. She'd struck him the first time they met as a cagey old bat, and even more so the second time. Sending Morrigan hadn't been an act of charity, he was sure of that much.

And thinking of the tower… What had the guard said, as he poked around the camp the day he'd arrived? Maker, was that really only three days ago? He'd said that Loghain had sent men in to secure the tower, and that no one was allowed through while they worked. Once his part in things had become clear, Aedan had thought they'd been preparing the beacon, but now he wondered. If the tower had been properly secured, there shouldn't have been any way for that number of darkspawn to have already found their way in by the time he and Alistair got there.

Alistair himself had spent most of the time between then and now in a kind of daze. Aedan didn't want to press him on it, just yet, he decided, even if there was something alarmingly… vulnerable in the air about the man. He imagined Duncan must have thought the same of him, in those first few days after Highever. He'd be the voice of experience if needed, but best to give Alistair a bit to come to terms on his own, first.

And what to make of Morrigan? She'd been distant enough, and certainly held very strong opinions on how things should be handled. But she settled quickly enough when it became clear his decision had been made. He wondered again about Flemeth, and how often she tolerated any amount of willfulness. And Morrigan seemed almost more familiar with battle and bloodshed than he and Alistair, which said something after the ordeal they'd both just seen. She had been entirely unconcerned by the affair with the bandits, even as she'd frozen the one who'd been about to give his head a new home.

Rass was happy as long as he could be near Aedan, though he had taken no small amount of perverse canine pleasure in pestering Morrigan on the journey to Lothering. Was he imagining things, or was there really a thin sense of interest in the dog hidden under Morrigan's most vocal objections to the mabari's presence?

And then there was Leliana. Chantry robes, preaching peace in an Orlesian accent, volunteering stories to pass the time as soon as they were all gathered together, and wielding daggers like an assassin. He'd considered asking her what the rules of the game would be were she to join them. But he was certain they'd need her skills – Maker knew they needed all the help they could get – and thought at the last minute it might be best if he didn't lead with suspicion. Even if this vision from the Maker had been enough to rouse his misgivings all on its own.

Redcliffe. They'd start with Redcliffe. It was closest, unless he wanted to take a gamble that the Dalish were currently on the western edge of the Brecilian Forest. His noble connections might galvanize some response there, for all he hated to think of those connections now. Victory at any cost, right?

Aedan bent down to wake Rass with a scratch on the head and gathered his packs as he rose. It had to be time by now to make arrangements with the group where they had agreed to meet in the courtyard outside the tavern, and there were more immediate concerns than how to sweep across a nation under a Blight.

* * *

><p>Of course no one could simply <em>give<em> them what they needed, even after they realized they'd need a lot more gold than they had to properly provision themselves for overland travel. Camp supplies alone cost a small fortune – proper tents, utensils, bed rolls, the packs to hold it all, and Maker forgive him if Aedan hadn't truly thought for a minute about freeing the Qunari from his cage just for an extra back to carry all this _stuff_.

_Probably not what was meant by 'doing whatever is necessary,' Aedan._ In the end he had picked the lock on the cage, opting not to deal with an authority who would be evacuating shortly anyway if she had a brain in her head. Sten had useful skills, expressed what he supposed passed for regret, and Aedan certainly understood the need to atone. And now they were six – five, if he went by Alistair's math, but Aedan had spent years thinking of Rass as a person and Alistair would come around eventually.

The Chanter's board offered no small amount of funding for the expedition ahead, and Leliana's knowledge of the current state of affairs in Lothering got them the rest. They had some meager amount left over after provisioning themselves, even, though they hadn't been able to find suitable armor for the Sister. In a most bard-like show of practicality, though Aedan held his tongue, Leliana traded her daggers for a bow after cutting a line up each side of her Chantry robes, from ankle to waist. For freedom of movement, she'd said, and they'd come across some suitable leathers sooner or later.

And then Aedan's nonexistent prayers were answered. Instead of working out a discount with the wandering dwarf and his son, he was able to snag space on their cart for all the travel supplies in exchange for a safe place to sleep while they went about traipsing across the country. It took more convincing, some wheedling, and the promise there wouldn't be any hard feelings if the merchants ever chose to clear out, but in the end they had a deal.

As they headed up the highway toward whatever the road would bring, Aedan let himself fall back to keep pace with Alistair for a minute. "You know, Alistair… That color in your face might go away if you take your eyes off the slits in those robes she's got on."

"I just… Sisters aren't supposed to look… I mean, she… I don't think I like you anymore."

* * *

><p><em>AN:_ _To those who've read and commented with their enjoyment, thank you! This was meant to be short, as __Twice Bitten__, my main tale of the Blight as told by Zevran, is coming to the point where _he_ needs to start showing us who Aedan is. In order for that to happen, I had to get some measure of his character myself, so here we are. _


End file.
